


Thatcher Grace and the Roar of the Wampus

by thespeedfxrce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, Cameos from some of our Hogwarts alumni, F/F, F/M, Friendship/Love, Ilvermorny, Ilvermorny House - Horned Serpent, Ilvermorny House - Pukwudgie, Ilvermorny House - Thunderbird, Ilvermorny House - Wampus, M/M, Original Character(s), Professor Harry Potter, black magic is not nice stuff, first year starts out relatively tame but by the end shit hits the fan, hermione granger - Freeform, there will be blood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-11-05 20:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17925845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespeedfxrce/pseuds/thespeedfxrce
Summary: Magic is all around us - in everything. The United States doesn't believe in the separation of magic into Dark and Light Arts. Magic is not inherently light or dark. A dark wizard may use magic for evil but the magic isn't evil. The wizard is evil. The magic is just that - magic.Black Magic is a legend, a Native American wive's tale. MACUSA is adamant that Black Magic does not - nor did it ever - exist.As more and more unexplained incidents pile up, the sightings start to shake the wizarding world. As whispers of Black Magic spread within the walls of Ilvermorny, Thatcher and his new friends find themselves on a dangerous adventure to find the truth before it's too late.-Rating Subject to change as themes get darker and my characters get older, (sooner than you think). This isn't Hogwarts. We're in America now.





	1. An Introduction to Our Hero

**Author's Note:**

> FORWARD:
> 
> This story revolves around Thatcher's house, but not all main characters will be in that house. I will be incorporating more of the other houses than in the original Harry Potter stories. (Example: For sports there are JV and Varsity teams - Varsity are single house, JV teams are full of students in two houses on one team - Wampus and Horned Serpent; Thunderbird and Pukwudgie). I recognize that since I have started this story before all of the Ilvermorny facts and North American history is out that my story my stray from canon.
> 
> I also will be incorporating more Native American history to the story, regardless of what JK Rowling publishes. Too often is the Native American community overlooked so in my story they are important as is their history. But be aware: although I will try to keep everything in their history as straight as I can, I will alter small history and mythos to better fit my story (remember: this story does take place in a world where there are WIZARDS and ACTUAL MAGIC). This is a work of fiction that is adapted from JK Rowling's work, Native folklore and my own imagination. Also, I will try to help you understand and keep apart different tribes, languages, dialects etc. I am human, I make mistakes - if I mess anything help feel free to respectfully point it out.
> 
> I plan on writing 7 books for 7 years in school. This first chapter is mostly to give us information on the houses - a lot of it I pulled from tumblr. I stitched together parts of people's house descriptions and headcanons that I liked or that my friends sent me so keep that in mind.
> 
> Feel free to send me Ilvermorny head canons you'd like to see! Or if you're interested in Beta'ing send me a PM :)
> 
> NOTE: I've never used AO3 before so I don't know how to format shit (bold, italics, line breaks, etc) or if that's even an option so bear with me. Or read this on ff.net.
> 
> So, without further ado - I present to you:
> 
> Thatcher Grace and the Roar of the Wampus

Chapter One: An Introduction to Our Hero and the Houses of Ilvermorny

The sprinklers in the front yard of the Grace Estate are automatic. They come up from the ground at 7 o’clock sharp every other night to water the family’s short cropped grass. The lines caused by the lawn mower are perfectly straight, showcasing the attention to detail and organized minds of those within. The only trees are those that encompass the property and separate the home from the paved streets. They were planted to give a sense of privacy from the other lake homes and summer cabins surrounding them.

The sprinklers in the backyard of the Grace Estate are manual.

And for the life of him, Thatcher Grace cannot figure out why. If you have automatic sprinklers in the front yard you should also have them installed in the backyard. It just makes sense.

The front yard of the Minnesota estate is rather expansive. It’s full of lush, green grass that Thatcher spent most of his life playing football on with his dad, his college buddies and their kids. The backyard is large in its own right but is cut short by the private lake that the Graces share with three other families year round and seven other families who stay in their cabins over the summer months - totaling to ten residents on the lake. The backyard is bare, minus a trampoline, a small bonfire pit and a dock that harbors a pontoon.

Thatcher only has to move the two manual sprinklers they have in the backyard twice each to get the whole yard. The work just seems tedious in a world with automatic sprinklers. And, of course, magic.

“When I was a kid, I had to turn on the sprinkler every night and turn it off at just the right time or your grandmother would lose it,” Mr. Grace muses over his brown bottle of beer as he, Thatcher and Mrs. Grace soak up the last of the day’s sun on the deck. He points the bottle in Thatcher and his wife’s direction before taking a swig. “And I didn’t have magic to do it, either.”

Jim Grace is a tall man with leftover college football muscles in his arms and a beer belly on the rise - not totally there but surely on its way if he stops working out. His bright blue eyes and light blonde hair make him appear more youthful - the lightness of his hair does well in hiding the touch of gray he’s sporting. Thatcher is the spitting image of his father, with similar bright blonde hair and clear, blue eyes to match. 

Although she has gray eyes that could be mistaken for blue in some lights, Karen Grace’s light blonde hair is the work of her stylist. Mrs. Grace complains that her son inherited nothing from her but her magic, to which her husband responds with a wink: “he’s a cocky, competitive, goody two shoes, just like you.”

Thatcher rolls his eyes and makes his way down the stairs to start the sprinklers in the backyard. There was no way he is going to sit through his parent’s banter. Gross.

Once he gets down to the deck, he does a quick glance around to make sure his parents aren’t watching. With a deep breath he stares at the knob attached to the side of the house, willing it to turn.

It doesn’t move. Thatcher clenches his jaw and reaches his hand forward, fingers stretched wide, imitating characters he’s seen on TV. Slowly the knob turns and the sprinklers start. With a grin Thatcher skips back up the wooden stairs and onto the deck.

By the time he gets up the steps his parents have retired to the house. He sits on the railing, his legs dangling over the edge, and he watches the sun set over the lake.

He’s already told of his school friends that his parents are transferring him to a boarding school this year. He knows he is going to miss his friends but the prospect of learning magic is too good to be true.

-

After his parents discovered he inherited magic, his mother introduced him to a couple of her magical friends. The Moore family came over from Oklahoma last year for Mrs. Grace’s birthday. They have two sons, Ben, a second year in the Thunderbird house, and Daniel, a first year in the Pukwudgie house.

Thunderbird and Pukwudgie, Mrs. Grace explains before the two boys come over, are two of four Ilvermorny houses. When you arrive at Ilvermorny you are sorted into one of four houses, each representing something else: Thunderbird, the soul, Wampus, the body, Pukwudgie, the heart, and Horned Serpent, the mind.

His mother refuses to explain anything else to him or tell him her house, in hopes he doesn’t create a bias for one house over the other, but Ben and Daniel are more than happy to oblige when they come over.

Ben, the older sibling, is very proud of his house. “Thunderbird,” he boasts, “is easily the funnest house. Best house, I’d reckon. We favor adventurers, you know,” he grins. Thatcher doesn’t know, but he doesn’t point it out. He still hasn’t had much exposure to the wizarding world and doesn’t want them to know just how uneducated he is. He listens adamantly, willing himself to remember everything to boys say to him. 

“Thunderbird isn’t the funnest house,” Daniel frowns. “Pukwudgie is fun, too. They’re all fun.”

Ben had finds this utterly hilarious and bursts into laughter. “That is such a Pukwudgie thing to say.”

From what Thatcher remembers from that talk, Thunderbird is full of loud, boisterous rule-breakers always ready for an adventure. Pukwudgie is a more tame, “follow your heart,” supportive bunch. Ben had dismissed Horner Serpent and Wampus.

“Horned Serpent,” Ben starts, “is full of kids who think they’re smarter than you, and Wampus is full of wannabe warriors just looking for a fight.”

After the Moore family left, Thatcher had begged his mother to tell him more about Ilvermorny, but she kept insisting she didn’t want to ruin his experience and left it at that. 

-

The next morning, Thatcher is seated at the kitchen island while his father finishes doing the dishes. The interior of the home is just as pristine and presentable as it is on the outside. No clutter on the counter tops, all shoes lined along the wall next to the door, and throw blankets folded neatly after each use on the white couches. Thatcher’s father, a part-time real estate agent, invites clients into the home and ensures the house is always in top shape.

Thatcher is shoveling waffles into his mouth when Mrs. Grace lets the screen door shut behind her, mail in hand. “Finally,” his mother laughs, opening a letter addressed to The Parents of Thatcher Grace. “Jim!” Karen calls, “we have Thatcher’s supply list from Ilvermorny!”

“So, he’s not a squid?” Thatcher’s father jokes as he finishes drying his hands and folds the towel over the handle on the stove.

“A squib, honey,” his mother says.

“Same thing.” He waves his hand before he stands behind his son and places both on his shoulders, giving him a good squeeze. “You know, you could still go to my old school and play Hockey-”

“And be surrounded by No-Maj?” Karen laughs, “under no circumstances. Our boy is going to my old school.”

“We don’t want his head to get big with that Wizarding superiority, Kare.” Jim says lightly. “Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you don’t like our neighbors.” He teases.

“Oh no, I love them,” she says, walking over and pecking her husband on the cheek, “but I would also love to be able to charm my dishes to wash themselves while they’re over.”

Jim sighs, there’s no use in arguing with his wife. Thatcher was always destined to go to a magic school. Unfortunately for Jim, having a hockey playing son just wasn’t in the cards. Thatcher vows to play the popular wizarding sport, Quodpot. Although he has never seen it played, his mother has mentioned it from time to time. He knows it takes place on a broom and the prospect of flying only makes him more excited to excel in it. He would be lying if he said that he hasn’t thought about playing sports - Quodpot or Hockey. He has spent a lot of his time trying to train for Quodpot - a difficult task due to his lack of knowledge about the sport. His father was the best in No-Maj sports, he would be the best in wizarding sports.

He spends much of his time grilling his mother on the sport, only to have her give him limited details - to not ruin the surprise. He’s beginning to become irritated with that line of thinking. How can he prepare for a new sport - or this new world he is to live in - if she doesn’t tell him anything?

“You and your mother can go shopping tomorrow,” Jim says.

“You’re not coming?” Thatcher frowns and turns to face his dad. 

“Work, champ.” Jim starts the dishwasher. “Plus, I’d stick out like a Christmas Tree on the Fourth of July at your Wizard shopping mall.” He laughs at his own joke and grabs the letter from Ilvermorny and looks over it before handing it off to Thatcher with a shake of his head. “I still can’t believe there is a whole wizarding mall right under the Mall of America. That place is big enough as it is.”

Mrs. Grace grabs Thatcher’s finished plate and places it in the sink. With her wand she charms the dishes to do themselves. “We can take the Floo if you’d like.”

Thatcher nods his head vigorously. “Oh yes, please, please, please!” He exclaims. He was afraid his mom would make them drive. Hardly an effective mode of transportation, even though they only live a few hours drive from the Mall of America. His mom takes the Floo to her work in New York everyday. He knows she works for MACUSA - the wizard government - but he isn’t sure of the details. And he isn’t sure about any details because his mom never tells him anything, he thinks bitterly for what seems like the millionth time that day.

But that’s all going to change soon. Soon he will be thrown head first into a world he knows almost nothing about, but if he is good at anything, it’s adapting quickly.

He’s also good at stealing old textbooks from his mom’s office. That night, Thatcher waits for his parent’s to fall asleep. Once the coast is clear, he slips his mother's old textbook out from under his bed and flips his bedside light on. Ilvermorny: Tried and True, the title reads in bold white letters, indented into the black leather. Underneath in gold, looping script it states: The Story of Isolt Sayre. He turns to the first page.

Ilvermorny was founded in 1627, 637 years after Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With humble beginnings, the school was originally a stone cottage constructed by Irish immigrant Isolt Sayre, and her No-Maj husband James Steward. It began with only two teachers and two students.

Thatcher skips ahead, skimming through the history portion of the book. Where are the parts about the four houses? Ben and Daniel’s explanations barely covered a small portion of what Thatcher is sure he needs to know before he goes to school this September. A small voice tells him he shouldn’t skip ahead but his curiosity gets the best of him. His mother is most tight-lipped about the houses.

He finally lands on a page that has what he wants. ILVERMORNY'S CORE FOUR, underneath it a short description of the houses and then a header that Thatcher is barely able to read as Thunderbird before the page from the book jumps out at him. Literally.

A bird soars out of the bindings causing Thatcher to drop the book onto his bed and scramble backwards, pushing himself against his headboard, knocking it into the wall. The golden bird shoots up to the ceiling and circles the room, filling his room with light. Its body is encased with lightning that trails behind it and each flap of its wings brings a clap of thunder.

A light in the hallway turns on and Thatcher reaches for the book to slam it shut. As he does, the bird takes a nosedive and disappears back into the bindings. Thatcher flips the TV on at the foot of his bed and throws the book under the sheets.

"Thatch? What's going on?" His dad flips the light on. "Were you watching TV?"

Thatcher nods, "yeah, sorry, Dad, it's just - I wanted to watch," he glances at the colorful horses galloping across the screen of his TV, "... My Little Pony."

His dad raises an eyebrow but doesn’t make any comment, much to Thatcher’s relief. “Alright, well just keep it down alright?”

Thatcher nods, “I’ll just turn it off, I’m kind of tired.”

“Big day tomorrow, champ,” his dad flicks the light in Thatcher’s room off, “you don’t want to be too tired for it. Good night.”

“Good night, dad!”

The second the door shuts, Thatcher rips back the covers and stares at the book. “I don’t know how you did that,” he says to the book. He won’t be able to read the book tonight, not if it’s going to be so loud. The wind blows through his window and he grins.

With the book safely tucked in his old school backpack along with a flashlight, he pops the screen out of his window. It falls onto the slanted roof and slides down onto the landing below with a crash. This may be harder than he thought.

He waits for a few moments, staring wide-eyed at the crack underneath his door but the light remains off. As quietly as he can, he slips out of his window and shimmies himself away from the edge of the roof, not wanting to suffer the same fate as his screen. He’s going to have to get that later. He crawls along the roof until he is sitting at the furthest point from his parent’s room.

Eagerly, Thatcher rips open his backpack and takes out his prize. He skims through the pages before the Thunderbird bursts out of the book again with a loud crack. This time the gold bird swoops low and hovers in front of Thatcher. To his amazement, not two but four wings flap in tandem in front of him. Lowering itself, that bird lands on the corner of the book.

Thatcher reaches up to pet it, but the bird only nips and him and motions down to the page.

Thatcher decides this bird isn’t to be messed with and follows its directions and begins to read.

The Thunderbird house was named after the intelligent, but temperamental adopted young son of Isolt and James, Chadwick Boot. Chadwick was the first born in a very prominent family. He wrote many books and travelled many miles. The Thunderbird is a magnificent creature that can sense danger and create storms as it flies.

The Thunderbird house is the soul of Ilvermorny and favors the adventurer. Ambitious and aggressive, but righteous and accomplished. The grand concept of the soul is Change. The Thunderbird wants change for its internal world. It wishes to be free in its thoughts and it’s desires, regardless of the outside world. The thunderbird seeks betterment for itself in subjective ways. It does not want to win, it wants to be happy.

Thatcher took another look at the bird perched on spine of his book. As it cleans its feathers, he admires it’s sun like pattern. The bird notices it’s being watched and chirps as a sort of demand at Thatcher, encouraging him to keep reading. Temperamental for sure, he thinks.

The Thunderbird is resilient against outside influence and is powerful against impossible odds. Those who find themselves a home in this house are determined to find joy in all they do. In the face of everyone telling them “no”, they plant their feet and scream “yes” in response. They deeply connect to those who share its beliefs, and will stick to these long lived friendships through any situation.

Their forceful confidence gives the Thunderbird a tendency to hurl themselves into happiness and freedom, acting however they might please. This gives them a forceful and individualistic charisma, but makes them enemies as they can come off as a bull in a china shop. The Thunderbird is less likely to plan ahead as its counterparts in the other houses. It has its eventual goals in mind, but it trusts in its ability to improvise with all the cunning and determination it possesses once it comes into contact with an actual impediment.  
This house will be as curious as they come, but it’s deep held beliefs as a Thunderbird will lead it to dismiss more information than its more trusting and open minded peers. Those housed into the Thunderbird are those who value personal methods and gain through what they experience. The Thunderbird represents the soul, not just for thrill seekers, but for every fiber of humanity that lurks within us.  
With a turn of the page, the Thunderbird dives back into the pages and before Thatcher can morn the loss, a large black cat - no, panther - pounces out of the pages and flashes large fangs at Thatcher. Once deciding Thatcher is not a threat, it lays itself in the edges of the book that the Thunderbird once rested on. He counts six muscular legs on the beast. Thatcher stares in amazement before he pulls his eyes back to the book.  
From the younger Boot boy, Webster, came the Wampus house. Webster feared that a house titled “Webster Boot” would never be chosen to win, exemplifying his competitive spirit. The fierce young boy shared much in common with the magical panther like creature. Impossibly fast, ferociously strong, and nearly impossible to kill, the Wampus is a clear winner. The Wampus house is said to be the body of Ilvermorny and favors the Warriors.

The Wampus values pragmatism. They want real world results. They want things that can assist these results. And they will take real, immediate action to achieve these results. The Wampus is oriented towards events, the exterior world, and action and it searches for advantage in everything. Searches for ways to win. The Wampus revels in the competition, in winning, and the real world. It values proof, logic and action.

They see the real world problems with constantly sticking to their morals and emotions, and will be willing to change their decisions and adapt to whatever will yield the greatest benefit. This house is extremely action oriented, often becoming restless when there is no danger for them to face or situation to mend. Those who find their home in Wampus will be the most competitive of all, eager to jump on any casual opportunity to show others what they can do. They possess a glory seeking nature combined with an innate drive to win. The Wampus will look for logical and analytical reasons why it did or did not win, and thus will often seem changeable, as it is reviewing new data and analyzing while it is taking action. It's looking at the same time as it's leaping.

Strong willed with malleable beliefs and goals, active with a sharp mind to consider all options while acting, and intellectual but fierce. This house deals in cleverness more than any other type of intellect. It prefers wit and strategy in its thoughts. The Wampus is self critical and keenly aware of its own strengths and weaknesses, but it will conceal its weaknesses behind a thick veil of intellect and pride.

The Wampus is a warrior and a team player. Those in this house may manifest as a person who is a strong and charismatic community leader. They will drive groups of people forward highly effectively with an infectious optimism and tireless determination. All those who find themselves in this house are hard working with great amounts of grit. They will fight tirelessly to achieve fairness and justice in any place they can.

Because the Wampus' interaction with the world is based around fighting and winning, it feels that it must achieve its goals at all costs. This house is highly adaptable within the margins of its goals, as it sees many ways it can get what it wants, and has no issue buckling down to what work is necessary. They are so constantly ambitious and secure in their desire that they feel comfortable dropping their seriousness whenever it appeals to them. At the same time, the Wampus sees no point in becoming too preoccupied with the negative aspects of the here and now, and has a tendency to "wait out" annoyances, emotional problems, or pain.

They're the law, following duty and command with steadfast brashness. That doesn't necessarily mean heroics. They're even and smart. Go against them and they'll take you out without hesitation, because they can. Because they're strong in physical strength or emotional combat. Chaos that values order.

Thatcher can't help but find the part about the beast not becoming preoccupied with negative circumstances - like being awoken from a nap - very fitting, even without extensive knowledge on the creature before him. The Wampus lounging on his book certainly is waiting out the annoyance of being awoken from its slumber. As he lifts the corner of the page the panther stretches and disappears into the lines of the paper.

The next page opens with hiss as a horned snake slithers out and wraps itself around Thatcher's wrist. It's long tongue tickles his fingers. It's scales simmer a beautiful green color that, when caught in the light, flashes a magenta hue.

The Horned Serpent is the house after Isolt's own heart. She shared a strong bond with a Horned Serpent of a nearby lake, hidden deep in the surrounding forest. The Horned Serpent is the mind of Ilvermorny, as Isolt was, and favors the scholars.

There mind is based in theories. The world aligns with their system of thought. Why is the world this way? What if it isn't? The Horned Serpent considers anything and everything. They scrutinize and analyze. They make the world fit their mind and are oriented toward the internal world.

The Horned Serpent is a fierce but cautious creature by nature. They have strong held ideas that they reenforce with a powerful will and as much mental energy as they can muster. However, they are acutely aware of the consequences to their actions, and will act in a more refined way, only breaking rules or taking direct action when they see it as good to do so. They will not, however, hesitate to challenge any idea put forward, examining it from both moral and logical standpoints. They have a highly tuned moral framework that builds itself on sequences of logic in order to determine what is right. This house prefers to take what is established knowledge so that they can act in the moment and will not have to shift their belief system, which is dependent on information. The Horned Serpent will project themselves as the most prominent mind in the room.

The Horned Serpent focuses on many ideas, narrowing down those that are illogical and discardable. Their intelligence propels them in everything they do, shaping their values, shifting their actions. What the Horned Serpent does will always be to the benefit of knowledge and its own understanding. They will seek the analysis and dissection of the entire world, magnifying every notion as far as it reasonably can. The Horned Serpent balances a scale in their own mind. On one hand, they enjoy the pure information of chaos, but on the other, the rationality of their personalities want stability.

The wish for personal understanding is held dearly by the Horned Serpent. While they are receptive to the many ideas of the world, they prefers their own. They will be strongly oriented towards order, categories, and rules. This inclination to favoring their own ideas makes the Horned Serpent stubborn minded until failure. At the point of failure, they simply follow another theory. Their ambition drive them forward toward a goal or a principle to understand, while studying and searching for the best way to achieve such an end.

The jewel on the crown of the serpent's head glints in the soft light. It nods once to Thatcher before retreating back into the confines of the book, allowing Thatcher to move onto the final house.

Pukwudgies are what they are. The house after James, they are the heart of Ilvermorny and favor the healers. Those housed in Pukwudgie value restoration and improvement in everything around them. They are the engineers of livelihood, the freethinkers, the optimistic. They want to be themselves in all respects, extroverting themselves on the outer world. They are in tune with their own emotions and will follow their gut instincts and feelings wherever they might lead. They have a strong emotional attachments. Pukwudgies are social to a fault. They are the ones who repair things that are broken and alleviate the vexation that weighs against others.

By the time Thatcher has read the first paragraph a short and stout creature ambles over to his lap and sits down. It has long gray hair and a large set of ears. Upon closer inspection, Thatcher makes out a large nose.

The Pukwudgie grunts up at Thatcher, "it is rude to stare. You are here to learn, let us read."

"You, you can talk?" Thatcher gapes at the little man sitting in his lap.

"You will learn nothing if you don't read on." His long fingers wrapped around a wooden stick and he tapped on to the book impatiently.

Thatcher nodded mutely and returned his attention to the page, stealing glances at the small creature as he went. Not exactly a social creature, he supposed this one was just cranky.

The Pukwudgie is devoted to its friends and family. It will make sure they are happy and healthy above all else, and will define their lives by those they care about. They are more focused on themselves as individuals than initially suspected by their peers. The Pukwudgie prefer to stay within the circle of those that they love and rarely stray from it. This doesn't make the Pukwudgie selfish. Their affinity for healing, physical or otherwise, make it more selfless and able to dismiss their own emotions easier than most because of their acute awareness of the impact it has on others.

The social nature of Pukwudgie combined with their want to heal, make their want for individuality strained to their own wants and the wants of their friends. They prefer not to look at the big picture, and instead focus on small situations where they can apply themselves with vigor and individuality. They are an emotional houses and those who find their home here are outspoken and willing to stick to their emotional decisions to the bitter end.

Pukwudgie is adventurous in their own right and see the world externally, without becoming preoccupied with the structure of the world or what they can and cannot do. They seek to fully enjoy life, pursuing new knowledge and experiences without very much of an end goal. Those in this house seek to enjoy their life above all else, and will likely have a drive to see the world, try new and exciting things, and will not have patience for those who drag them down to a more boring world.

Pukwudgies are naturals at making connections and thrive in the social world. Their ambition is driven from emotional need, and will often be less ambitious than the dreams. They will want to succeed in a social or emotional way, more intangible than the power and wealth. They are highly external people, loving the company and positivity of social gatherings and becoming highly adept at navigating such settings.

They're light and caregivers, heart and healing. But they can be begrudging in their loyalty, bitter or tricksters. As such, their intelligence should not be overlooked. There can be a manipulative or self serving element that is combated by their softness and sense of fun and charm. It makes them good at dealing with people. They can be caregivers or teachers. They're tolerant and patient even when they hate it.

The Pukwudgie represents the heart, not just for loyal helpers, but for the will of striving for the life that holds our heartbeat.

Thatcher finds his eyelids drooping part way through the reading and once he reached the end he wasn't sure he could continue.

The creature in his lap gave one of his hands a small shake. "You've done enough reading for one night, friend." He seemed to be in a much better mood, Thatcher notes as he climbs back onto the page. "Get some rest and maybe I will see you soon," he says before dissolving into air.

Thatcher closes the book gently and places it back into his backpack. He makes his way to his window and climbs back in, slower this time and his feet drag with sleep.

He drops his backpack next to his bed and climbs under the covers. He has so much more to read but for tonight, he can't keep his eyes open any longer. Before he can remind himself to grab his screen on the porch outside tomorrow before his parents find it he is fast asleep.  
\-------------------------------------------------------

Next... Thatcher goes to the Wizarding Mall and finds himself a new friend, an unlikely ally, and an unexpected enemy.

Thanks for reading! I promise we'll actually be going somewhere next chapter! This chapter was a hell of a lot of exposition - I just needed to lay the groundwork. Remember Thatcher is young here, I can't have him getting into too much trouble... yet ;) Let me know what you think!


	2. Vertic Alley

Chapter Two: Vertic Alley - Not to be Confused with Diagon Alley  
\-----------

The Mall of America in Bloomington, Minnesota is the largest mall in the United States. 520 stores, an amusement park, one of the largest mirror mazes on the planet, a chapel to get married in, and a 1.2 million gallon aquarium - it's safe to say it's got it all.

But that's not why Thatcher and his mother are there. The mall is nothing special to Thatch anymore. It was still exciting to visit but it's not new. He'd practically grown up with it, too many people in one spot, but the mall underneath - now that was something to be excited for. Thatcher has been to this place a million times, but never has his mom even suggested there was something magical underneath!

He follows his mother into the building through the Macy's entrance after taking upwards to twenty minutes to find a parking spot. He is bursting with excitement and he nearly has to drag his mom away from the shoe rack.

Mrs. Grace leads him to a small hand lotion and bath shop tucked neatly in between a Minnesota themed gift shop and Athleta. It's darker than the other stores - dimly lit and has soft instrumental music playing in the background.

A woman in a red velvet shirt approaches them, "is there anything I can help you find?" She asks, a kind smile on her face.

Thatcher glances up at his mom, "I thought we were going to -"

His mother ignores him and smiles at the woman, "I was looking for the exit to the Doxy parking lot. Do you know where it is?"

Thatcher gawks at his mom. "Mom, we just got here! And there is no Doxy parking lot, the parking lots are named after states." He can hardly believe he had to remind his mother of such a major detail about the mall. As they were parking she practically hounded on him to remember they were parked on the Nevada floor. "Can we please -"

The woman grins and ignores Thatcher to speak to his mother, no one is listening to him! "Yes, it's on the north end of the building. A bit of a ways from here, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. I could use the exercise."

"I have a map in the back I can show you if you would follow me."

Thatcher's mom grabs his hand and follows the woman to the back of the store.

"Mom," Thatcher pulls on her hand but she just tightens her grip. He's about to lose it. The woman in front of them pulls out a stick from her robe and taps the wall and it simmers before disappearing revealing a set of stairs. Thatcher's jaw drops. Not a stick, he realizes. A wand.

"Have a good visit," the woman smiles at them before returning to the front of the store.

Now his mother is pulling his hand, leading him down the dark stairs until a light at the end pulls Thatcher away from her. He drops her hand and steps out into the light.

Stretching out before him is a white marble street, lined with shops. The ceiling is charmed to look like the sky, or maybe it is the sky. He swears he can feel like heat of the sun on his skin.

The way the buildings are set up reminds him of an outlet mall. The shops all seem to have their own personality. While they are all the similar in height and sharing borders, no two shops look even remotely alike. Some appear to be made of panels of wood with flowers growing and spreading over the walls, some are lined with shining bricks that seem to dance as they catch the light and others are all adorned with tall windows that give the shopper a glimpse inside with grand doors of varying shapes and sizes in the center for entrance.

Thatcher blinks rapidly, as if trying to wake up from a dream. People bustle by him, some knocking into him, but he hardly notices as he takes it all in.

"Welcome to Vertic Alley." Mrs. Grace leans in and rubs her son's shoulders. "It was built after Diagon Alley in London. Just bigger and better," she winks.

Thatcher just nods, awestruck. He looks at the store nearest him. The building resembles a farmhouse, the distressed red barn doors with white accents are propped open, one of the doors hangs lower than the other as if a hinge is loose, giving it a vintage feel. An engraved rusted metal sign above the door reads: Ye Olde Animal Outlet.

Thatcher smiles up at him mom, "can I get a new bird? Mom?"

He starts towards the barn-like shop but Mrs. Grace steers her son away from the pet store, "why don't we start with your uniform?"

"But -" Thatcher stops himself. He already knows he's lost this fight. His mom leads him over to a large shimmering gold building. The sign, a series of bright lights reads Goldstein's.

"You can pick out your uniform first and I want to do a little shopping," Mrs. Grace says. She hands him the list of required materials. "You think you can handle getting all of your supplies on your own?"

Thatcher's face lights up. "Really? By myself?"

"Really." She says but Thatcher has already snatched the list from his mother's hand and runs into the clothing store. He waves in acknowledgement when his mother calls after him to meet her at the Wood Nymph Gelato stand. "Okay, bye - see you later!" He yells over his shoulder.

He ducks under people and around them to get inside and once he does he can't believe what he sees.

The ceiling reaches up stories above him and is painted with enchanted dragons, some darting through the clouds while others lazily gaze at the shoppers far below them. There are seven different levels he can see and a set of enchanted golden grand moving stairs in front of him, similar to an escalator.

To his left is a group of kids his age, all standing in front of someone dressed in blue and cranberry robes dancing atop a small platform. Excitedly, Thatcher starts towards them, sneaking through the crowd he finds himself in front of the dancing woman and once he gets there he realizes it's not a woman at all, but a mannequin. A magic mannequin.

"I've never seen anything like it!" A boy says next to him, his bright eyes turn to Thatcher. "Isn't it the coolest thing you've ever seen?"

Thatcher nods and looks back at the dancing figure with a grin. "I can't wait to learn magic like that."

"That's nothing," a tanned boy crosses his arms and rolls his eyes at Thatcher. "My accidental magic was cooler than this before I perfected it," he pauses, looking Thatcher up and down before dragging his eyes over to the boy next to him he adds, "then again, if all I ever knew was accidental magic, I probably wouldn't know any better myself."

Another tanned boy cackles besides the first. Thatcher turns to the boy next to him, ready to ignore the two tanned boys when he sees tears welling up in his eyes. His fists clench and he whirls on the two bullies. With more force than he means he snarls at them, "apologize."

The second boy has the decency to appear taken aback but the first one just lifts his nose. "Why? Because I pointed out that he is a weak wizard? Maybe his mother should apologize to him."

Thatcher feels the hair stand on the back of his neck. He puts his new friend behind his back and narrows his eyes. "I won't ask you again."

"Lay off him, Castor." A voice calls out from outside of the small circle that had formed. A young girl, Thatcher thinks maybe his age, pushes her way forward. Her skin is tanned like Castor's and her hair is black as night. Her voice is laced with humor, as if she finds this whole situation is funny. "Your magic is just as accidental as any of ours without a wand. Don't make me remind you of the time you tried to bring a glass over to you from the coffee table and you let it splash all in your lap instead. Your mom thought she needed to toilet train you - again."

The boy's face turns bright red and his friend cackles again before getting pushed passed with more force than necessary by Castor. "Shut up, Scot," is all he manages to grumble as he stomps away, his friend concealing a grin the whole walk out of Goldstein's.

The girl, Scot, has already disappeared into the dispersing crowd before Thatcher has a chance to say anything to her.

"Thanks," a small voice says behind him.

"What?" Thatcher turns around. He had almost forgotten about the boy before.

The shorter boy's face turns bright red. "Oh, um. Thanks for sticking up for me. I'm Jackson, but everyone just calls me JR."

"I'm Thatcher." He says, looking around the boy for Scot. "I didn't really do anything though."

JR smiles brightly at Thatcher. "Yeah, Scot is so cool."

"You know her?" Thatcher asks as he turns back to JR.

"Oh no, just from right now she seems cool.

Thatcher nods, "yeah, I guess."

Someone calls to JR and he turns away from Thatch. "It was nice to meet you! I'll see you at school?"

He smiles as the other boy walks away, "yeah, I'll see you!"

The student uniform section is on the first floor but Thatcher finds himself on the enchanted staircase anyways. The second and third floors appear to be all women's clothing, filled with beautiful dancing mannequins like the one he saw downstairs. Third is men's, fourth is filled with baby clothes, the fifth floor is the juniors section and more his speed. Enchanted thunderbird toys soar through the air, wampuses prowl the grounds, fighting with pukwudgies while horned serpents slither through and underneath the floor as if the very marble was water.

As Thatcher continues up the stairs, the sixth floor is filled with formal attire, from glittering gowns to sharp tuxedos. Nothing a boy his age would be interested in. When he reaches the top floor there is only a door covered in red velvet. When he approaches, he finds he isn't getting any closer to the door.

Thatcher cocks an eyebrow and starts to run, but he can't get closer. In a flowing script, a sign reads. 18+ Only. The alarm on his watch goes off and he freezes. He has to meet his mom soon and he hasn't even gotten his uniform yet, not to mention the rest of his supplies.

Thatcher races down the grand staircase, dodging the store patrons as he goes and ignored the ruckus he leaves in his wake.

He runs past the mannequin he saw when he first walked in and grabs a pair of cranberry robes he hopes fits and slips into the shortest line ran by a different mannequin.

He is out of breath but the mannequin doesn't say anything to him as he slides it his money. He's not entirely sure the mannequin can say anything to him.

Panting, he watching with increasing impatience as the mannequin carefully folds his clothes and places it into a pale pink and marble patterned bag.

He all but snatches the bag out of the mannequins hands and with a quick thank you, he rushes out of the store.

Once outside, Thatcher unfolds his list of school supplies. He hadn't gotten a good look at it until now. Books, and many of them. He curses himself for being easily distracted and follows the map his mother drew on the back of the list to Meriam's Marvelous Book Emporium.

The outside of the shop is almost entirely made of glass, showcasing the, what Thatcher can only guess is, millions upon millions upon millions of books. The bookcases soar high into the sky, surpassing where the ceiling appears to be from the outside. What looks like a small shop, is actually the largest room Thatcher has ever been in.

Thatcher can't believe his eyes but the wonder and awe is short lived when he checks his list. Seven books isn't much on paper, but as he looks around with his head tilted back to take it all in, he can't imagine finding anything he needs in a place this big.

"This is gonna be a long day," he sighs.

Thatcher scans through his supply list, it doesn't include any of his classes only the books but he can make pretty educated guesses from what he sees. In his basket he has:

Charting the Cosmos Volume I by Tesla Montane, which must be for an astronomy class;

An Introduction to Defensive Magic by Wilbert Snodgrass, a magical self-defense class;

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore, a botany course;

Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch, transformation of some sort,

History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot and Native American Folklore: An Unfinished and Unauthorized Composition of Oral Stories by Black Hawk, two history classes? Thatcher groans at the thought but stops himself. This isn't regular history. This is magic history.

He places Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger on to the top of his basket. His mother has Quodpot by Abraham Peasegood and Flying for Beginners by Oliver Wood at home so he only has one book left Chadwick's Charms Volume I by Chadwick Boot.

Sounds easy enough, he thinks. Although that is what he thought about the last nine, and those were anything but. After some direction from the shop owner he finds it… two shelves above his reach. Even on his tippy toes Thatcher can't reach it. A couple of pathetically short hops later he sighs. He does a quick look around him to see if anyone is looking before he reaches his arm up again.

His tongue sticks out between his lips as he concentrates. "Come on," he mutters. The books twitches. With new vigor he stands on his toes, "come on." One of the last copies of Chadwick's Charms Volume I falls into his outstretched hand, bounces roughly out of his gasp and onto the floor. Close enough.

Before he can celebrate he hears someone gasp. "Wow. That was amazin'!" A thick southern accent sounds from behind him.

Thatcher whirls around as a young boy moves around a pile of hazardously stacked books. His hair is a dirty blonde color and his eyes are a dark chocolate brown. He's tall - almost a head taller than Thatch. By the look of his tucked in flannel shirt, his "Don't Tread on Me" hat, his light wash jeans and his shining belt buckle, Thatcher would guess a farm kid, probably from the deep south by the sound of that accent.

His mom always complains about his Aunt Melinda who lives in Georgia and talks so slow anyone can finish her sentences for her but this kid is talking a mile a minute.

"I mean, I've made plenty a books fall down but never on purpose! Well, there was that one time I got mad at my neighbor Tommy - total self-righteous dick but he's got a thing for my sister so he's nice enough when she's near - an' he was standing up the book shelf an' I - sorry. Gotta watch my southern hospitality - that's what my mom always says." He lets go of his basket of books with one hand to hold it out to Thatcher, almost spilling all of his books over as he does so. "Archimedes Fillips! But my friend's call me Arc!"

"Thatcher Grace," he takes the boy's hand. His hands are calloused, from working, he supposes, but his grip is surprisingly soft and inviting. He can't help but feel his ego inflate a little when he decides his arms might be smaller, but his grip is firmer.

"Mind if I call ya' Thatch?" Arc has already started making his way towards the register in the front of the shop. Before Thatcher can say anything the dirty blonde haired boy is already speaking again. "You look like a Thatch."

Thatcher watches the other boy drop his stuff gracelessly onto the counter. "Beautiful day, ma'am," Arc says with a smile to the girl at the cash register. "Not nearly as beautiful as yerself," he adds with a wink as he pays her. "Thank ya, ma'am," he says when she offers to have his books sent straight to Ilvermorny for him.

Thatcher laughs as he watches Arc saunter outside, looking back to see if the girl is checking him out. A small smile spreads over his face. He likes this kid already.

Thatcher hands her his money and follows the boy outside. "Mm! My goodness. I do love beautiful women," Arc sends another look into the store. "Do you think she was interested in me?"

Thatcher snorts at his new friend. "Not a chance."

"No bullshit," Arc slaps him on the back. "Just what I was looking for in a pal."

"Watch your profanity," Thatcher only partially jokes.

"An' he's a goody-two shoes?" Arc pretends to be shocked. "You can be my moral compass. Keep me on the straight an' narrow…" he narrows his eyes, "you don't really seem like a strict rule follower though."

Thatcher raises an eyebrow. "Don't you think it's too soon to tell?" He asks innocently.

Arc grins and wraps an arm around Thatcher's shoulders. "Now that's what I like to hear." He makes a sweeping motion before the two of them, "I can see it now. Arc and Thatch -"

Before Thatcher can reprimand correct his new friend and insist that Thatch and Arc is clearly the better sounding name for the two of them, his mother comes up behind the two boys. "Thatch!" Mrs. Grace is rummaging through her purse. "Did you get the books? Oh! Hello! Who are you?" She smiles.

The boy's eyes go wide and he wiggles his eyebrows at Thatcher. "Archimedes Fillips, ma'am." He grabs a hold of her hand and kisses it gently, laying on a much thicker southern accent than Thatcher remembers him having. "Pleased to meet your acquaintance."

"Make your acquaintance," Thatcher whispers loudly behind him. A comment Arc is happy to ignore.

"Well, aren't you just charming! I'm Mrs. Grace, Thatcher's mom. Where's your mother?" Mrs. Grace glances around.

"Uh, yeah." Arc's eyes narrow in thought, as if he just remembered he didn't come here alone. "I kinda lost my ma," his hand ruffles his dirty blonde hair. "I'm the only magic person in my family an' I told her I'd go grab my books an' be right back but when I decided to go back I kind of forgot where 'back' was."

Mrs. Grace gasps, "Oh, Honey. Let me help you find her! She's probably lost somewhere -"

She is cut off by a loud "ARCHIMEDES!"

Mrs. Fillips is a large woman. Not in an overweight sense, she's just what Thatcher would describe as larger than life. Tall and broad-shouldered, she is hard to miss by any standard. Even harder with her large derby hat and expensive looking floral print business suit. She is not a woman to be messed with for sure. If it wasn't for the bewildered look on her face, Thatcher suspects she spends most of her time giving a fake, judging smile on those ridiculously thin lips of hers. She sticks out like a sore thumb. And it didn't help that she is yelling out like a lost puppy for her son.

Arc grinds his teeth. "Found her." Thatcher snorts, earning him an elbow in the gut from the taller boy. "Over here, ma!"

Mrs. Fillips wide brown eyes find her son and the worry almost washes completely from her face. She glances around skeptically at the witches and wizards around her before she hustles over to them. "Bless The Lord, I thought I lost you!" She crushes her son into a bear hug.

Thatcher paints on his most respectfully composed face as any good Minnesota Nice abiding citizen would do and watches as his new friend turns purple in the face. Archimedes Fillips will never live this down, he decides.

"We've got to figure out that damned bus system -" The woman looks up at Thatcher's mom suddenly, as if she never noticed her. "Goodness - pardon my french, Miss - ?"

"Grace," she sticks out her hand, small and delicate in comparison to Mrs. Fillips' man hands. "Your son and mine seem to have gotten to know one another a bit." Archimedes' mother gave her a quick once over before accepting her hand.

"Ah yes, well that's nice," Mrs. Fillips smiles, tipping her over-sized derby hat. "I seemed to have lost my adopted magical family so I am on my own. Now Archimedes, your pa an' I will be in North Carolina for your sister's dressage competition the day that bus is supposed to stop by to pick you up so yer gonna have to figure that out on yer own -"

"Well, Mrs. Fillips, I don't mean to impose but why don't you drop him off at my home that morning and he can ride the bus with Thatcher?" Mrs. Grace asks. Archimedes grins devilishly at Thatcher. "We live right here in Minnesota."

"Oh, I don't think I can get him a plane ticket so late."

"You don't need plane tickets! We'll just open a portkey for him!"

"A portal key?" Mrs. Fillips frowns. "I'll have to speak to my husband about this -"

"Ah, come on, mom! You know dad doesn't care for any of this stuff!" Archimedes whines. "Plus I wanna be on the same bus as Thatch. He's the only magic person I know!"

"Don't interrupt now, dear." Mrs. Fillips looks down at her son. His big brown eyes look glossy and his lower lip is pouting out. Is it quivering? Thatch thinks to himself.

"We already lost our magical family - they can be my new one!" Arc pushes. "And you don't care about magic, either! Mrs. Grace can help me."

Mrs. Fillips frowns. "I don't mean to be rude, but I just don't know you."

A fat tear rolls down Arc's cheek and Thatcher has to do everything in his power not the laugh. This kid is quite the actor.

"Mrs. Fillips, I insist!" She smiles a winning smile that Thatcher recognizes from home. It's the smile she uses when she knows she's about to get what she wants.

"Oh, all right," she concedes. "Just drive my son with your key port or whatever it is you do. But, Archimedes, if you got all of your things we must be going. Our flight to Louisiana leaves soon and you have to rope tomorrow at the Tuesday Turn and Burn."

Arc hugs his mother, "Thank you - thank you -thank you!" He gave Thatcher a wink, all the tears he shed early suddenly evaporated. The little faker. "I'll see you later, Thatcher! I'll send you a letter on my new eagle!"

"You are not getting an eagle, young man!" They hear Mrs. Fillips say as she leads Arc away. "What do you even need a bird for anyways? Wizards."

Thatcher turns to his mom and narrows his eyes. She is never one to invite someone over so easily.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," she grabs his head and pulls him into his side as she walks them forward. "I've kept so much about the wizarding world away from you, I want to make sure you have a friend when you get there. Now, that else do we need to get before we head home?"

With his mom's newfound generosity he lists off the remaining supplies; "dragon hide gloves, one cauldron (size 4), set of glass or crystal phials, a set of brass scales, a familiar…" he's pushing his luck with the last one and the look on his mom's face lets him know it.

"Ask about the last one in a couple of years," she says with a smile. "Now let's get the rest of this stuff and head home before your dad gets back from work and figures out how much money we spent today."

\-------

Next... Thatcher and his new friend Archimedes await their bus to Ilvermorny. The two boys have a lot of questions about this new magical world and decide to learn a thing or two...

\-------  
I called it Vertic Alley after Diagon Alley because it's such an American thing to take other things they like from other countries and put a little spin on them. So it's just a little joke to myself, I guess.

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! Remember to shoot me any head canons you want to see!


	3. Last One There's a Rotten Egg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still don't know how to make anything italic so read this story on ffnet for the best viewing pleasure

After Thatcher discovered his magic, his mother started using short distance portkeys to help him get used to the feeling. When he first used one, his mother was there to catch him. Archimedes doesn't have that luxury.

The two boys have been sending each other mail through Mrs. Grace's Osprey. When Thatcher stopped by Ye Olde Animal Outlet at Vertic Alley, his mother had tried to talk him into considering a Trumpeter Swan for a familiar in the future - her first bird she had inherited from her mother when she started school at Ilvermorny but he wasn't having it. There is no way Thatcher is going to show up to school with a swan. Thatcher left the mall short a familiar, but with a promise that he could come back once he proved himself in school. Easy peasy, he thinks.

Through their letters, Thatcher learns that Arc's family owns one of the largest plantations in Louisiana, his sister is the apple of his parent's eye, his mother first thought his magic was a sign of the devil, and he believes himself to be quite the catch to "the ladies". Although he may not entirely agree, Thatcher will admit, the boy has a way with words. Arc seems to think he could talk a starved gator into eating some plants over him if he ever encountered one in a swamp and Thatcher believes him. And of everything he learned though their letters, it's that reading the ones Arc sends to him makes Thatcher feel as though he has forced ADD* from the way the other boy changes topics - sometimes mid-sentence.

Two weeks after the boys met in Vertic Alley, Thatcher - with the help of his mom - sends Arc a hockey puck wrapped in cloth via his mother's Osprey with the instructions for using the portkey. And at 7:30 PM sharp the next day, a set of luggage and a young boy rip through the air, the latter falling face first onto the recently watered grass.

Immediately, Arc stands up and throws the charmed hockey puck across the yard with all his might. "What in the devil -" before he can finish his sentence he falls back down onto the ground and pets the grass. "Oh, solid earth. I shall never leave you ever again!" He declares.

Thatcher rolls his eyes and he goes up to meet his new friend. "Oh, come on. It's not that bad," he says, thinking about how he did the same thing the first few times he used a portkey. He grabs one of the taller boy's bags and hoists it onto his back. It's much heavier than he thought it would be but he tries not to let Arc see him bend under the weight.

Arc glares at Thach in response to his comment and continues to whisper promises to never take solid ground for granted again to the grass.

After a few more seconds of listening to sweet nothings directed at individual blades of grass, Thatcher shifts the bag on his shoulder and starts towards his house. "Alright, well, my parents are at the neighbor's and my mom said no junk food but my dad gave me permission to raid his secret snack stash so-"

Arc jumps up at that. "Well, why didn't ya say there was a secret stash to raid in the first place? Race ya!" He gathers his other two bags and the boys race off to the Grace home.

Thatcher makes it there first but Arc insists it's only due to his lighter load. They drop the bags off in the entryway and make their way to the kitchen, arguing the logistics of their race the whole way. When Thatcher locates the snack cupboard he and Arc grab their fill and then some. They don't know when they'll get this opportunity again.

"No wizard snacks," Arc says. "Aren't your folks magical?"

Thatcher drops a bag of chips from his teeth onto the pile in his arms. "No, just my mom. My dad is No-Maj. Plus, once we get to school we won't have any of these snacks, so better we have these than whatever the school thinks can be considered as snacks."

"I think ya might be the brains of this operation!" The boys climb up to Thatcher's room and drop their bounty onto the bed sheets.

Arc rips open a bag of chips and makes himself comfortable on Thatcher's bed. "Okay, what's the deal with your ma being so secretive? She doesn't even keep magic snacks in her own house."

"Well," Thatcher grabs his own snack sized bag of crackers and leans up against his bed frame. "I think it's cause she works for the government -"

"Wait!" Arc leans forward, eyeing Thatch suspiciously. "Yer ma works for the feds?"

"No, she works for MACUSA. Magical Something Something United States of America… I think. It's the magical government."

"There's a magical government?" Arc's eyes go wide. "As in two governments? That's two sets of rules I gotta abide by!"

Thatcher furrows his brow. "I never thought of it like that. I don't think the regular government law apply when we get to Ilvermorny. I think their kind of, like, separate entities?"

"I don't think I wanna know the rules we're gonna have at Ilvermorny. But, I guess it can't be worse than the rules my ma's got back at my place," Arc says through a mouth full of potato chips. "Hey, have you gotten your schedule?" He asks as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a letter addressed to him from school.

"I don't have to specific times, but I got a list of classes." Thatch leans over to his bedside table and pulls out his own letter.

The letter read:

Do Not Discard. Please keep on your person for usage after the Sorting Ceremony. Additional copies will not be provided.

Headmaster Theodarian Pallando and Headmistress Bavmorda Morgan wish to express the warmest of warm welcomes to the new, upcoming class of students to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They also wish the happiest of summers as the new school year approaches.

Without giving too much away, the Headmistress and Master wish to give the list of classes for the upcoming school year. The following are your classes in no particular order. More information - including full schedules - will be provided upon arrival to Ilvermorny.

Astronomy

Professor: Mimsey Porpington

Class Location: The Planetarium

Description: The study of the stars, planets, and other celestial bodies. Every other week a class is held starting at midnight and going as late as 3 AM. 5th year students will be invited to participate in a scavenger hunt, where they must locate an object using their navigation skills granted to them by the stars.

Note: This class is not to be confused with astrology, which is an aspect of Divination.

Charms

Professor: Cassius Abberat

Class Location: To Be Determined Upon Arrival

Description: Considered by many to be the most fundamental field of magic, Charms teaches spells that enchant objects, people, or creatures to behave in a way that isn't normal. It is also something of a catch-all category for spells that don't qualify as Transfiguration spells. Note that charms are generally positive in nature, as opposed to curses, which have negative effects — though it could be said that both forms of magic are two sides of the same coin.

Magical Defense

Professor: Gideon Silwyne

Description: Teaches students how to protect themselves from magic and creatures, from blocking hostile hexes to learning how to recognize and overcome creatures like werewolves, vampires, trolls and boggarts.

Note: More advanced magic, like the Patronus Charm, is not taught in this course. It was offered as an elective for 6th years who have a recommendation from their professors.

Herbology

Professor: Leon Ortwing

Class Location: Green House

Description: The study of magical and mundane plants and fungi. In Herbology, students learn to care for and utilize plants, and learn about their magical properties, and what they are used for. Many plants provide ingredients for potions and medicine, while others have magical effects of their own right.

History of Magic

Professor: Julius Fontaine

Class Location: To Be Determined Upon Arrival

Description: The study of magical history, including names, dates, and locations significant to the wizarding world. Students will learn about the foundings of Ilvermorny as well as the other Wizarding schools in the Americas and across the globe. Focused unit on Indigenous American lore and history.

Potions

Professor: Cuthbert Figg

Class Location: To Be Determined Upon Arrival

Description: In Potions class, students learn to mix magical ingredients into elixirs and brews to produce a variety of wondrous effects when consumed. Students are expected to practice constant vigilance, as one misstep could prove catastrophic.

Transfiguration

Professor: Jean Tall Grass

Class Location: To Be Determined Upon Arrival

Description: The magic of changing the form and appearance of a subject. Transfiguration is a difficult subject and will require much additional outside practice. This is the field of study in which a wizard can learn to become an Animagus.

Note: Students will not be taught to become Animagus.

Broomstick Flight: required one year

Professor: [Coach] Agilbert Riordan

Class Location: Quodpot Pitch

Description: For those new to flying and broomstick use. Learn how to fly and basic broomstick care.

Note: this course is required course for all first years and a prerequisite for those interested in taking Advanced Flying Techniques.

The Headmaster and Mistress wish to further express their excitement for your upcoming journey through academia at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Signed,

T Pallando and B Morgan

"They sure do wish a lot for us…" Thatch muses.

"I cannot wait for magical defense!" Arc ignores him and grabs the paper from him.

"I just can't wait for school to start." Thatcher reaches over the pile of snacks and grabs his mother's book, Ilvermorny: Tried and True, from his backpack. "I have this book -" he starts before Arc grabs it from his hands and tosses it behind them. It falls with a thud onto the ground somewhere besides Thatcher's bed. "Hey!"

"Do ya really want to know?" Arc asks. A devilish grin spreads across his lips, "wouldn't it be more fun if we just found out when we got there? Besides, what can we learn from a stupid old book, anyhow?" He slides off the bed with a bag of chips in one hand and an unwrapped candy bar in the other and heads to the door. "I saw you had a trampoline!"

"It's not just any old book," Thatcher argues as he follows his friend out to the hallway. "It's a magic book! You didn't even look!" He says, exasperated.

"A book is a book is a book, magic or not." Arc says. He jumps up onto the railing of the stairs and slides down, Thatcher hurrying behind him.

"You're wrong, and you're not allowed to slide down the railing," he grumbles.

Arc turns to face him, his mouth agape. "You sound like my mom. Now how do I get to the backyard from here?" He starts towards the dining room.

"I do not." Thatcher scrunches his nose. "You're going to wrong way, you know!" He calls after Arc.

"I'm takin' the scenic route!" Arc yells through the walls. "Call it the path less traveled."

Thatcher rolls his eyes and heads towards the backyard, through the kitchen and living room, the more efficient route. Or as Arc would call it: the easy way.

He stands by the sliding glass door and waits for the taller boy to find his way to him. "I beat you," Thatcher says once Arc finally saunters towards him.

He claps Thatch on the back, "not everything is a race, young one." He winks and slides open the door. "Last one to the trampoline is a rotten egg!"

The boys take off in a dead sprint. Try as he might, Thatcher trails behind Arc the whole way. Just when he thinks he's going to overcome him, Arc pulls away and dives onto the trampoline, panting.

"You had a head start!" Thatcher pulls off his shoes before crawling onto the trampoline. Before he can stand, Arc starts jumping up and down as hard as he can, knocking Thatch down every time he tries to get to his feet.

"We'll call it even," he laughs as he sends Thatch onto his hands and knees with another bounce. "One to one." He drops onto his backside next to Thatcher and stares out at the lake. "Any hot women live nearby?"

Thatcher is beginning to catch on to the continuous topic changes. "One of my neighbors is pretty cute. She goes to my school. My No-Maj school," he adds.

"What's her mom like?"

Thatcher punches him in the arm.

"You're gonna keep me on the straight an' narrow, aren't ya Thatch?"

"I won't make any promises."

Arc beams at him, wiggling his eyebrows. "So you're sayin' I'm gonna drag ya to the darkside, mom. Ow!" He rubs his arm. "Again?"

"As many times as necessary." The boys stand up and start jumping, trying to knock the other down.

"I guess that's all I can ask from a best pal," Arc laughs as he double jumps Thatch.

Best pal. Thatcher likes the sound of that. They spend the better part of an hour trying to see who can jump the highest and planning their next competitions when Mrs. Grace calls out to them from the house.

"Boys! I got pizza!"

"Pizza?" Thatcher and Arc turn to each other. "On the count of three - Arc, you cheater!"

"Gotta be quicker than that!" Arc has already jumped off the tramp and started across the lawn, Thatcher hot on his tail.

With the score now two to one, in favor of Arc, and the pizza gone, Mrs. Grace sits the two boys down in the living room. "I'm surprised you were able to eat so much pizza after all of those snacks you were able to eat." She arches and eyebrow at the boys. "You made a mess in your room, Thatcher, it better be picked up before bed."

"Yes, mom." Thatcher nods sheepishly as Arc stifles a laugh.

"Now tomorrow morning the school bus will come and pick you up to take you to Ilvermorny. The bus will make some stops along the way but it shouldn't take too long for you to get to Mount Greylock. From there -"

"Mrs. Grace?" Arc raises his hand from his seat on the couch. "Where is Mount Greylock?"

"It's in Massachusetts, dear."

"Massachusetts?" Both boys exclaim.

"We're taking a bus all the way to Massachusetts?" Thatcher gapes at his mom.

"Yes," she nods with a knowing smile. "A school bus."

Thatcher and Arc groan and sink into the couch. "Can't we take a portkey?" Thatch asks.

Arc shoots up in his seat, eyes wide. "No! No, bus is good!"

Thatch rolls his eyes as his mother answers him. "We can't take portkeys to Ilvermorny, but, trust me, you won't want to miss out on taking the bus. Now," she checks her watch, "I don't want to give anything else away, now you two get to bed. I'll have breakfast ready at 10 and the bus comes at 12 so you'll have plenty of time to pack!"

As Thatch and Arc trudge up the stairs, the latter pokes the other in the ribs.

"What was that for?" Thatcher narrows his eyes.

In a bad attempt at sounding like Mrs. Grace, Arc says through giggles, "you better have your room all cleaned up, Thatch or you're in big trouble!"

"Why I oughta -" Thatcher grabs after his friend as the boys run up the stairs. Their feet pounding down the hallway.  
\------------

Next time... The bus arrives and old and new faces are met. A thief is among them and hilarity and truces ensue.


	4. A Journey to a New Home

Thatcher Grace and Archimedes Filips stare at the cranberry colored school bus idling at the edge of the Grace's driveway. It is no larger than those yellows ones that pick up the No-Maj kids every morning. Thatch thinks it is also, for lack of a better description, absolutely horrendous.

"Do we really have to ride in that little thing the whole way?" Thatcher scrunches his nose and turns to his mom.

Mrs. Grace just laughs and pushes the two boys towards the bus and hands off their trunks, shrunken down for space purposes, to the Bus Attendant dressed in a hybrid cranberry bellhop uniform. "The whole way," she smiles. "Have fun!"

"Get in tons of trouble!" Mr. Grace calls as the door closes behind the two boys and their fate is sealed.

Thatcher walks up the steps of the bus first and is immediately greeted by an overweight man. "Welcome," the man grumbles, but he isn't listening. The bus isn't impressive on the outside, but the inside is a whole other world.

The bus is filled with cranberry and blue colors, oddly enough not overwhelming as it is tastefully accented with whites and creams to dull the brightness. The entire left side of the bus was lined with glass doors, all the doors have a cranberry trimming. Inside the glass doors are small rooms, decorated with blue couches on either side, facing each other, and cream colored pillows. A small coffee table sits in the center of the room.

In the room closest to them two older students are playing a game of exploding snap, they're already in their uniforms.

Thatcher and Arc exchange glances, wicked grins spreading across their faces. Thatch has a feeling this isn't going to be as bad as they thought.

"Pick any compartment," the bus driver says impatiently, putting the bus into drive and consequently lurching it forward. "They're all exactly the same."

The hallway is relatively wide, there is just enough room for the two boys to walk side by side and not brush against each other. The first three compartments the boys walk past are full.

Thatcher goes to open the door of an empty compartment but Arc walks past him towards a compartment another door down. "Woah now," Arc says, "hold yer horses, Lone Ranger! This one's got girls in it!"

Archimedes has already sauntered into the compartment before Thatcher can argue. There are two girls inside - one on either side. Both girls have straight black hair and tanned skin. The girl with longer hair has red paint staining the palms of her hands.

"Mind if we join you, ladies?" Arc says as he sits down next to the girl examining her face in a compact mirror.

"Kid of looks like you were going to anyways," she says to him, not looking away from her mirror.

Completely unfazed the dirty blonde haired boy continues on. "The name's Archimedes but you can call me Arc."

With a huff the girl closes her mirror and tosses it into her purse. She frowns at Arc. "Tatum Big Crow. Last name is two words. And you are?" She nods to him from across the coffee table.

"Thatcher." He smiles and sits down across from Arc. "Thatcher Grace." He turns to the girl next to him. It takes him a moment to recognize her. Her eyes are dark, similar to Tatum's, and they're somewhat narrowed. She's sizing him up, he realizes. Maybe she recognizes him too. "I saw you at Goldsteins. You were with those other two guys," Thatcher bristles at the memory of the two boys - Castor was one of them - bothering JR. He wonders for a moment if any of them will be on this bus. "Your name was Scot, right?"

She reaches out and shakes his hand but her face doesn't give anything away. "Scotley Country Man. And I wasn't with those two idiots, we just know them."

"You both do?" He asks. Thatcher lets go of her red hand and notices his hand comes away with a small amount of discoloration as well.

Scotley and Tatum share a look of distaste. Scotley rolls her eyes, "I've known him his whole life, Tatum met him on the bus while he was throwing a fit." Something devilish flashes across her face.

Archimedes, oblivious of the conversation and the shift in energy in the room, is showering Tatum with compliments, his thick accent sounding deeper as he tries to appear older. Her indifference molds into pleasure as she listens to the darker blonde praise her.

Thatcher raises an eyebrow as he watches them. "I've never heard Arc talk about someone else for so long before."

Scotley snorts, "she seems to find him a lot more interesting than she found me. Is he always.. Like that?"

"Yeah, pretty much," he laughs. Arc winks at the two of them before turning back to Tatum. "Do you two know each other?"

"Not really, I just met her." Scotley explains. "I'm from Montana. We picked her up in North Dakota."

"Montana?" Thatcher gapes at her. "That's, like, a twenty hour drive just from where I live! How long have you been on this bus?"

"I've only been here for two hours. The bus route starts in Washington and just cuts across the Northern states to Mount Greylock. I think I heard an older students say it was only a five hour long ride max." She brushes some hair out of her face with a red hand. When she catches him watching, she grins. "Before you ask, it's a long story," she slides her stained hand under her thigh.

Thatcher frowns, "sounds like a story with a couple of broken rules."

"Don't sweat it, Grace," Scotley smiles at him and glances at the door as if she's waiting for someone. "I didn't break any rules that matter."

Tatum laughs at that, bringing herself and Arc into the conversation. "I feel like this is something I would want to get in on."

"Want to get in on what?" Arc asks but Scot and Tatum aren't listening. "I want to get in on it," he adds.

Scot pushes her backpack further under the seat with her feet. "I reckon you will all find out soon enough."

The group falls into comfortable conversation after that. Thatcher finds out Scotley is a registered member from the Crow Reservation in Montana - apparently so is Castor - and Tatum is Sihasapa Lakota (Blackfoot Sioux) from the Standing Rock Indian Reservation in North Dakota. Her parents are the proud owners of the Prairie Knights Casino and Resort and although she has a lot to say about her mom, Thatcher notices she doesn't talk much about her dad.

Other than a brief description of where she is from, Thatcher can't get any more information out of Scotley. She "has a dad not worth mentioning" - as she put it, and an old dog at home, but that's all she seems willing to give up. When she does speak, it's in a sort of clipped tone. Not necessarily in a way that is mean or uninterested, but not always willing to speak unless she thinks she has something important to say.

Tatum is not the same. Everything she says is a little condescending, a little bit mean, and always about her. As Tatum talks more about her own upbringing, Scotley only seems to look more uncomfortable.

"Scotley -" Thatcher starts to see if he can pull her out of her funk.

Suddenly the door to their compartment is flung open, slamming onto the wall outside with a smack. "Scotley County Man!" A tall, thin boy shouts. Thatcher recognized him as Castor, the bully from his shopping trip. "You left-handed thief!"

"You're left-handed?" Archimedes asks, completely oblivious to the fury rolling off of the tanned boy in waves. "An original witch! Cool."

"Can I help you, Castor Quivers Before Mountains?" Scotley gives a sweet, innocent smile but Thatcher can see the humor glinting in her eyes. Suddenly her earlier elusive behavior about her red hands starts to make sense.

"You very well know that is not my name, you witch." Castor clenches his fists by his sides. The boy's body is rigid and for a moment Thatcher thinks the newcomer might start swinging. Thatch exchanges a look with Arc, but the southern boy is grinning, clearly more amused with the situation than anything else. "I know you stole my Grandmother's cakes. The case was cursed to put red dye on anyone who touched it that wasn't me and it's all over your hands!"

"Oh," Scot exclaims. "How did all this get here?" she frowns, looking down at her hands in mock surprise. She scratches her head with her stained red pointer finger. "Must have been from something else. Sorry, Cas."

Archimedes snorts loudly across from her, doing little to hold back his cackling laughter. Next to him, Tatum is eyeing the bag behind Scotley's feet before looking up at Castor with an amused smile on her face.

Scotley bats her eyes at Castor. "But, i know how special Gran-Gran's cakes are to you... if you'd like I would love to help you look for them."

Castor's eyes narrow so threateningly that Thatcher glances at Scotley worriedly, but she shows no sign of fear. She just continues to smile right back at him.

"I'll get you back for this, Country Man. Don't think I won't." He glares around at everyone in the room, pauses as he recognizes Thatcher with a sneer. "I'll get all of you." And with that he slams the door back into place is a resounding thud.

"Bye, Castor!" She calls to a closed door cheerily.

"You took his cakes?" he asks.

She grins at him and reaches into her backpack under the seat and pulls out a wooden box covered in red handprints. She unlatches it and holds it out for everyone. It's filled with an assortment of pastries roughly the size of their palms. "Anyone hungry?"

Arc's jaw drops. He hungrily grabs two cakes. Taking a bite from one he sighs heavily, Tatum completely forgotten, "I think I love you."

"You should be thanking Castor," Scotley takes a small powered cake out from the box before placing it between her and Thatcher. "He was dumb enough to just leave them out when he decided to yell at the Bus Attendant for not providing enough pillows."

"I don't know," Thatcher starts. Castor certainly isn't his favorite but he doesn't think he's ready for enemies so soon.

She catches his eye. "Oh, come on, he deserved it! I righted a wrong! Brought balance back into the world and so on." Thatcher watches as she reaches in for another cake and rips it in half, holding out half for him. "Think what you want, but this is justice. And with this gift, I promise to probably not steal from Castor again until further notice."

Thatcher stares at the cake before locking eyes with Scotley. It really does look delicious. And Castor really was awful. He smiles and takes the other half. "No stealing - unless absolutely necessary."

Arc mumbles through a mouthful of snacks, "this was absolutely necessary." The four of them laugh.

Thatcher catches Scotley's eye and although she's smiling, she keeps glancing back at the door with an odd look in her eyes.

The door opens once again to show a dark-skinned African-American boy, "Thatch!" JR runs stands in the doorway. "I thought you would be here!" He moves into the cabin a little ways but doesn't shut the door. "Those guys you saved me from were here, and I heard one of them throwing a fit about his cakes getting stolen and I had hoped it was you! Oh - I'm JR by the way," he finishes his story a little breathless, suddenly looking a little shy after acknowledging his audience.

"Hi, JR," Thatcher smiles reassuringly at him.

A boy moves out behind JR and waves, "I'm Mark! We were just heading to the bathroom when J saw you guys, so we decided to say hi!"

Arc scooches closer to Tatum, "y'all are more than welcome to join us!"

JR shakes his head, looking more than nervous at the idea of sharing space with a group of new people, even though he already knew one of them. "Oh, I don't know, actually -"

"Sure!" Mark gently pushes the darker boy into the room. "Where are you guys from? I'm from Oregon, so I've been on this bus for a while now but it seems like we're really making moves!"

Mark Miller is easy going and agreeable, but other than being a good mediator, he doesn't have a lot of intelligent things to bring to the conversation. Not that it's a bad thing, Thatcher thinks. Just not very interesting.

"I haven't put much thought into what house I want to be in," Mark answers when Tatum asks.

"Hmm," Tatum narrows her eyes. "Well, I know where I'm going." She pauses, waiting for the group to guess. When no one speaks up she rolls her eyes, "Horned Serpent, of course." The group nods and mumble a couple words of agreement. "They are the cleverest, afterall."

JR furrows his brow, "I don't really think that's how it works -"

"Of course it's how it works," Tatum rolls her eyes.

Thatcher nudges JR, "just agree with her," he whispers. "It's easier that way."

Tatum crosses her arms. "I can't imagine any of you in Horned Serpent." She gives Mark a once over, "maybe… no." She sneers.

"Not even me," Arc wiggles his eyebrows at her.

"No," she doesn't hesitate.

"Well," Scotley interrupts. "As fun as that conversation was," she glares at Tatum. "I think I'm going to try to get some rest before we get there." She looks at Thatcher expectantly.

He nods his head in agreement, "yeah, I think that's a good idea. We've got a big night ahead of us."

"It's about time we go, anyways," Mark says. "It was so nice meeting all of you!"

Once Mark and JR leave, Thatcher, Scotley, Arc and Tatum fall into an uncomfortable silence. The first three share a look. The sooner they can get out of this bus, the better, they all seem to say. Thatcher glances at Tatum, who is already leaning up against the window, her eyes closed.

"We probably only have an hour left," Arc says, sinking down into the blue cushions on his seat.

"Plenty of time for a nice nap," Thatcher stretches and gets himself comfortable next to Scotley.

"I'm sleeping," Tatum says sweetly, but the venom in her voice is obvious.

Scotley starts to say something but Thatcher shakes his head. It's not worth the fight. The three of them follow Tatum's lead and fall fast asleep.  
\--

Next... Thatcher wanders the train and finds out more about his new home, the sorting ceremony, and wand selection...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a friendly reminder that this is on ffnet with italics and bold and other cool things like line breaks


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Wampus, a Pukwudgie, a Horned Serpent and a Thunderbird Walk into a Room.

Thatcher finds himself waking up shortly into their group nap. Tatum has moved her head from the window to Archimedes’ shoulder, something he can hardly believe, seeing as Arc is a bit of a snorer. Scotley has pulled her feet up onto the cushion and all but pushed Thatcher into the window.

Given his new cramped position and Arc’s snoring, he doesn’t think he’s going to get much sleep so he gets up to wander around. As Thatcher passes other cabins, most of the other students seem to have had the same idea as his friends. The older students seem to be awake more often than not and some of them wave at him as he passes. He always suspected the wizarding community was small, but from what he can see, this bus is packed and they only encompass one route. He wonders if all of the other buses are as full as this one.

The other side of the bus is simply a wall of windows. The trees whiz by them at break-neck speed. We must be getting close, Thatcher thinks. The bus breaks into a clearing and there is not a house to be seen for miles. Very close.

Once he reaches the back of the bus, which takes a lot longer than the outside of the enchanted bus would suggest, someone opens a door. A tall, beautiful African-American girl beams at him with a set of the whitest teeth he’s ever seen. She’s in her school uniform. “Can’t sleep?” she asks in a gentle voice.

“My seatmate took up most of the space,” Thatcher confesses with a shrug. “And I didn’t want to wake her.”

She nods her head to her cabin and pulls the door open further, “well, come join us for a little!” She lets him step by her and gestures for him to sit next to her. There are three boys in her cabin, all about her age. “My sister is a first year, too. She’s in the room next to us. I’m Amaya.” She points to the tan boy to her left, “this is my boyfriend Stefan,” he reaches out his hand for Thatcher to shake. “And those two fools are Michael,” she gestures to the brunette who gives him a cheeky smile, “and Julius,” the raven haired boy nods to him in response.

“I’m Thatcher,” he says after shaking their hands. “How did you know I was a first year?” The group laughs.

“Just a guess,” Michael winks at him as if they share an inside joke. Thatcher straightens his back, trying to appear as tall and confident as he can. He can’t wait to see the look on Arc’s face when he tells him that he made friends with upperclassmen. 

“What house are you guys in?” Thatcher asks.

Amaya starts to answer but Julius interupts her. “What house do you think we’re in?”

Thatcher frowns. He wishes had brought Ilvermorny: Tried and True with him. He considers making something up but he has a feeling they’ll see right through him. “I haven’t given the houses much thought, if I’m being honest. I’ve read about them, but I don’t want to go in with any biases.” He confesses.

Michael gives a low whistle. “Smart. Logical.”

“Analytical,” Amaya adds, grinning.

“Very Horned Serpent.” Stefan says, “with a dash of, dare I say… Wampus?”

Michael snorts, “you would say that.”

“But,” Julius interrupts, “look how we found him! Wandering the halls all alone.”

“That takes guts, bravery,” Stefan says.

“I was going to say,” Julius rolls his eyes, “he sounds like an adventurer! A Thunderbird.” He brushes his dark hair from his eyes and glares at Stefan.

Amaya wraps her arm around Thatcher. “He was very open to meeting us, guys. Could be a Pukwudgie, too.”

“But, he also -” Stefan starts before he’s interrupted.

“Wampus.” Thatcher points at Amaya’s boyfriend, Stefan. “You’re a Wampus, and the rest of you are Thunderbird.”

Amaya and the boys clap. “Well done,” she says. “You might be a Horned Serpent after all.”

“What gave us away?” Michael asks.

“Well,” Thatcher smiles, relishing the undivided attention and all but basking in the praise. “Stefan made a point to push for Wampus, so that was obvious.” The group laughs as Stefan sputters. “And you,” he points to Michael, “agreed when Julius suggested Thunderbird.”

“Okay,” Amaya says. “But what about me?”

“That was easy,” Thatcher grins. Pausing for dramatic effect. “You’re wearing a Thunderbird pin under your robe.”

The boys start hollering with laughter.

“I really hope you’re a Thunderbird,” Michael laughs as Julius punches him in the shoulder.

“But, you can still hang out with us if you aren’t.” The darker haired boy says. “You’re observant, you’ll be able to find new places to explore in no time.”

Stefan turns to Thatch, “and if these bozo’s house doesn’t fit your needs, you’ll always have a home in Wampus.” He places his hand over his heart.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Thatcher laughs with them.

Amaya tells him to keep his mind clear and the houses will choose for him.

“What does that mean?” He asks. He finds himself really wishing he read all of Ilvermorny: Tried and True when he had the chance with Arc.

“You’ll see soon enough,” she smiles.

“Look!” Michael points out the window and everyone turns. The bus is alongside a cliff and straight ahead, through the trees on the top of a hill they can see it.

Thatcher moves to sit on the coffee table in front of the window. “Is that -”

“Ilvermorny,” Amaya breaths behind him. The white castle stretches far into the sky, surrounded by tall trees and small clearings. It’s magnificent.

Before he can get a good look at it, the bus dips down behind the trees again.

Stefan claps Thatcher on the back, “we’ll be arriving soon, you’re gonna want to head back to you cabin and wake everyone up. It’s a long walk.”

“It was good to meet you, Thatcher,” Amaya says before he can ask what her boyfriend meant by a long walk. “I’ll have to introduce you to my sister soon.” Thatcher says his goodbyes and makes his way back to his cabin.

By the time he gets back, Scotley and Tatum are awake and putting their scattered belongings away. “Did you see?” Thatcher asks. “The castle?”

“How could we have seen it?” Tatum rolls her eyes as Scotley interupts her.

“What is it like?” She says.

“I didn’t get a good look at it,” Thatcher frowns. “But it looks awesome.”

Arc groans. “Are we there yet?” With his eyes closed he stretches out and almost knocks Tatum in the face. Ignoring her scolding, he rubs his eyes.

The bus comes to a complete stop. “I think so,” Thatcher says. “But we have to walk from here.”

“How do you know that?” Scotley asks.

Thatcher winks, “it’s a long story.” Students are already making their way out of their compartments. “I’ll catch you up on it later, let’s get out of this bus!”

As they leave the bus, Scotley, Arc and Thatcher walk up to JR and Mark, Tatum ditched them as soon as they left the compartment. Thatch doesn’t feel it’s much of a loss, and no one else says anything about her disappearance as they gather towards the front of the group.

“Come on, newbies!” Someone calls in front of them. The older students have already started to walk up the winding path towards where Thatcher assumes is the school.

Thatcher, Scotley, and Archimedes look at each other. “Race?” Thatcher asks.

Arc grins at him. “Think there aren’t any forks in the path?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“No, you will not.” Scotley rolls her eyes. “Hate to rain on the parade, but I am faster than both of you and it wouldn’t be a fair race, and if you two get lost and leave me with Tatum I’ll never let you forget it.”

Arc nudges her with his elbow, “come on now, she’s not all that bad.” He ignores her raised eyebrow. “Plus, you got Mark and JR,” he points behind them at the two boys.

“That’s comforting. Regardless, you’re not going to make fools of yourself in front of me. Once we have a better idea of where we are and how to get around, then I’ll leave you two in the dust. Until then -”

In front of them, a young girl stumbles on something and falls to her knees. Archimedes jumps forwards and heaves her up onto her feet. “Best be watching your step ‘round here,” he flashes her a winning smile and Scot and Thatch pretend to throw up together. “Roots and such.”

The girl smiles, her teeth look exceptionally white in contrast to her dark skin. The boy next to her helps dust off her shirt before reaching his hand out to Archimedes. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m Huxley - or just Hux - and this is my sister, Kristen.”

“Hi,” she blushes up at him.

Arc raises an eyebrow. “Sister?” He looks between the two. While his skin was light, her’s was black as night. “Sorry, don’t see the resemblance.”

Huxley laughs when Scotley punches Arc in the shoulder. “She’s adopted, idiot.”

“Oh.” Arc nods his head. “Yeah, you’re right. That makes sense now that you say it.”

Thatcher and Scotley exchange looks. If they stay friends, Thatch thinks he and Scot might be doing a lot of damage control with Arc and his big mouth.

“First years, too?” Hux asks.

Scotley nods, “yeah.”

Hux grins at her, “then we’ll be seeing each other around.” The two walk off ahead of them and Archimedes immediately deflates.

“I think you blew it,” Scotley snickers.

“You know, ‘roots and such,’” Thatcher adds in the thickest southern accent he can muster. He and Scot burst into laughter.

Archimedes sticks his tongue at them, “ah, buzz off.”

Thatcher holds his stomach from laugh, “alright, alright, we’re sorry.” He ignores Scotley’s scoff and catches up to Arc. “You haven’t forgotten about Tatum already, have you?”

Arc raises an eyebrow at Thatch, “I could never.”

The group of students are buzzing with energy. Everyone is excited to see where they are going but, minus the occasional comment, the first years are quiet. A group of upperclassmen keep to the front of youngsters while the rest of them take the rear. Probably to keep kids from running off into the woods, Thatcher thinks. Not that he can imagine why anyone would.

The forest is dense on either side of them. The sun peeks through the trees and illuminates the ground. On a branch near the trail a large blue bird stares them down. A Jobberknoll, Thatcher remembers from his mother’s stories. It’s speckled and rather beautiful, but striking in its patterns. They say the birds never makes a sound until the final moment before they die. The bird seems to stare down at Thatcher and he rips his gaze away with a shiver.

Eventually, the forest starts to thin out and seem to be planted in a more uniform fashion, lining the dirt pathway that has morphed into cobblestone below their feet.

Soaring up into the sky in front of them is the castle. Ilvermorny. A few weeks ago when Thatcher and his mom went to Vertic Alley he thought it was one of the most spectacular places he had ever seen. Ilvermorny, he discovers, if simply breathtaking.

The castle is made of white stone and looked like something out of Pride and Prejudice. Thatcher remembers that the castle was built in the 17th Century, but he can’t recall when the old-timey Jane Austen books his mother makes him watch the movies for take place. Not that it matters, he supposes. This castle is far more extravagant than any mansion Jane Austen could ever write.

Tall towers with dark rooftops shoot into the sky and draw long shadows over the group as they approach. The windows are all massive and a maze of bridges connect different towers. Thatcher can see the two large statues that appear to be guarding the main gates of the school. One is labeled Isolt and the other is James. “They were the founders of the school,” Scotley explains to them. “James was a No-Maj.”

“A No-Maj started a magic school?” Arc scrunches his nose. “Now that don’t make a lick of sense.”

“How do you know that?” Thatcher asks, eyes leaving leaving the kind face of Isolt.

“Ilvermorny: Tried and True,” Scotley answers.

His eyes dart to meet hers but she is looking ahead at the courtyard before them. He follows her gaze and admires the flowers that delicately wrap themselves around the pillars, moving in a way that was almost snakelike. They are different species of flowers, but all of them are a pristine white. No cranberry coloring in sight.

A set of tall wooden doors - at least 15 feet high - open before them, and the first years find themselves in the middle of a large circular room. Thatcher looks around and notices that all of the older students made a ring around them. In the center of the stone floor is a Gordian Knot, twisting slowly and tightening itself. Enchanted, Thatcher thinks.

A man and a woman stand in the center, with two students in their class robes. Each with a pin labeled Head Boy and Head Girl, respectively. Behind them stands a prefect from each house.

Scotley nudges Thatcher and points up. Above them is a wooden balcony all around the room. Equally spaced out are four statues. A Wampus, a Pukwudgie, a Horned Serpent, and a Thunderbird.

Arc snorts, “what is that ugly troll?”

“It’s a Pukwudgie,” a small latino boy besides them squeaks. “Not a troll.”

The lights dim around the edges of room, highlighting the knot and the statues.

“I am Headmistress Bavmorda Morgan,” the tall woman in the center of the room says. Her hair is a fiery red that Thatcher has never seen before. Almost blood red. “And this is Headmaster Theodarian Pallando.” She nods to the older man standing next to her. He is much older than she is. Where she could be anywhere from 50 to 60 years old, he was at least 80 years. And that was a conservative guess. Thatcher reminds himself that the lifetime of a wizard is often longer than a No-Maj so he could be off completely in both guesses.

“We are so, so pleased to see all of you,” she adds, making eye contact with Thatcher - and did she frown for a moment? - with a broad smile on her face.

“Soon the Sorting Ceremony will begin,” the man says, his voice a sort of husky sound but pleasing to the ear. “The four houses, as many of you probably know,” the man points to each statue respectively as he calls them out, “are Horned Serpent: the mind. The Horned Serpent favors the scholars. Pukwudgie: the heart. He favors the healers. Thunderbird: the soul. The Thunderbird favors the adventurers. And finally the Wampus: the body. She favors the warriors. The houses will choose you, not the other way around.”

“She?” Arc raises an eyebrow but is silenced by Thatcher’s narrowed eyes.

“Your house isn’t who you are,” Headmistress Morgan smiles, “your house represents how you live.” She pauses as the older students all around cheer loudly. “I will call each of your names one and a time and you will stand in the center of the room.” She continues. “The statues above will then deliberate amongst themselves before one of them chooses you. If more than one decide to choose you, you will be able to pick which house you wish to be in. Understood?” The students nod their heads silently. “Once you are sorted one of the prefects from your house will escort you to receive your wand.”

Thatcher holds his head eye and notices that Scotley does the same. Arc’s eyes sweep the crowd around them, his face remains neutral, almost innocent, but he has a calculating look in his eyes. Thatcher eyes catch on JR’s and he gives him a reassuring smile.

“Big Crow, Tatum.”

Tatum’s eyes grow wide as she steps forward, her bravado left behind as she finds herself in the center of the room. A minute passes before the Wampus let out a roar, claiming his selection. The Wampus prefect grins, placing a hand on her back as he leads her through tall wooden doors and out of their sight.

“Bradford, Huxley.” A young boy steps forward, fists clenched. It took only 15 seconds before the Horned Serpent let out a low hiss. Shortly after him his adopted sister Kristen is also sorted into Horned Serpent.

“Country Man, Scotley.”

Scotley clenches her jaw, eyes narrow as she stares straight ahead. Before she is even fully on the crest in the center of the room the Wampus cat roars. Louder than he had for anyone else. With a wicked grin, Scot glances back at Archimedes and Thatcher before tossing her head back and following the Head Boy of Wampus to the next room.

“Fillips, Archimedes.”

“Oh boy,” Arc shakes Thatcher’s hand before stepping to the center of the room, “it’s been nice knowin’ ya.”

Within seconds the Wampus roars. Arc kisses his hand and points to the sky. He turns around to face Thatcher. “See you on the flip side!” And with that he is lead through the doors and out of sight.

“Grace, Thatcher.”

Thatch unclenches his hands as he makes his way to the center of the room. He keeps his head held high as he makes eye contact with the headmaster and headmistress. They both exchange a look that puzzles Thatcher but he doesn’t have time to dissect it now. He looks up to face the statues, ignoring the students around him. The four statues seem to glare menacingly down at him but none of them react. He wonders what they’re saying, if they’re saying anything at all. He notices the students around him squirming but he doesn’t break eye contact with the statues, staring back at them defiantly. Challenging them.

All at once, the four statues come to life, the wampus roars, the horned serpent hisses, the Pukwudgie shoots an arrow into the air and the thunderbird’s wings clap loudly.

Thatcher’s eyes immediately drop down to the Headmaster and Mistress as gasps fill the room. They are whispering to one another but both of their eyes remain on him. Thatcher looks back up at the statues and he knows who he is going to pick, he suspects he’s always known.

“Wampus,” he announces, eyes drawing away from the statue to meet the prefects. “I wish to join Wampus.” He says as loud as he can. A cheer erupts from the Wampus students.

The Wampus prefect walks up to him and grins. “Good choice,” she whispers as she guides him through the massive wooden doors to the next room.

The room is tall, similar in size to the sorting room. Towers of shelves full of wands fill the room. Thatcher’s fellow students follow behind some professors, many of them finishing up their wand search. Arc waves at him wildly, new wand in hand and a large smile plastered on his face before he is herded out of the room.

Off to Thatcher’s left a small explosion goes off and an older gentlemen snatches a short wand from a visibly infuriated Scotley. “No, no. Definitely not. Not this one either.” The man grumbles as he passes behind Thatcher and makes his way towards another towering shelf of wands, Scotley marching behind him. She gives him a small nod but otherwise ignores him.

The Wampus prefect gently nudges Thatcher to a short, plump woman before returning the sorting room. “Alright, deary.” The woman smiles warmly at him, hooking her arm in his, “time to get you a wand.”

Thatcher follows the woman towards a stack of wands on the opposite side of the room as Scotley. He catches the raven haired girl trying, and failing, to get a reaction out of a longer wand. “Why is it taking her so long to find one?” he asks.

The woman laughs, “the wand chooses the witch,” she muses with a smile. “The girl needs a wand as stubborn as her. Every once in awhile there is at least one problem student,” she sighs, “just poor Cassius’ luck.” She adds, looking off at Scotley handing the wand over to her helper - Professor Cassius Abberat, Thatcher recognizes the name from his class list.

The woman turns back and smiles at Thatcher. “Let's get you started! I’m Professor Porpington, but we’ll become more acquainted soon. Hm, let’s see here,” she waves a hand over the boxes of wands before settling on one. “Ah, Pheonix Feather… a favorite among our Wampuses.” Professor Porpington hands a dark stained wood out to Thatcher.

“Just give it a little flick and we’ll see -” he moves the wand and nothing happens. Thatcher frowns and tries again, will a little more force. “Oh, dear,” the woman grabs a hold of his wrist. “Yes, maybe not. Let’s not agitate the magic, shall we?”

She grabs the wand from his hand and places it back into the box before he can protest. “Don’t get discouraged - most people don’t find a wand the first couple of go’s.” She taps a finger to her chin. “Well,” she eyes him up and down. Thatcher tries not to squirm under her gaze. “This probably -” she reaches for a box before abruptly cutting herself off, “You were requested by all four houses,” she muses. With a shake of her head, Professor Porpington grabs Thatcher by the hand and pulls him to the next bookcase over and grabs a wand from the very bottom shelf. “We might as well try this one,” she mumbles to herself.

She hands Thatcher a long wand, a shade lighter than the first one. He rolls it in between his fingers. The professor motions for him to try something so he turns to the bookshelf and lifts the wand. Almost immediately the wand glows with a bright light.

Thatcher stumbles backwards and stares at his hand. He feels his skin tingle, like pin pricks across his knuckles. The power from the wand seems to rush under his skin and through his bones.

He turns to see the woman beaming at him. “Well, would you look at that. A Wampus Cat Hair core. That’s not something you see everyday.”

Almost immediately, Thatcher finds himself being ushered out of the room, to make space for new students coming in. “I’ve got lots to do today but we will meet again soon!” Professor Porpington waves him off.

Thatcher finds Arc waiting from him by a large marble sculpture perched outside of the Great Hall.

“Well,” Arc grins at him. “What did you get?” Before Thatcher can answer, Arc pulls out his wand. “Black Walnut with a Dragon Heartstring core.” He holds it up to the light. The wood is dark and finely detailed. “Pretty cool right?”

“Alder wood with Wampus Cat Hair core,” Thatcher raises up his wand in his hand.

Arc’s mouth hangs open and he grabs the wand from Thatcher’s cat and examines it. “Wampus cat hair?” He gasps. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Did you see Scotley leave,” Thatcher asks while Arc twirls his hand in his hand before returning it.

“I did, you missed it! She needed two professors to help her find a wand! I told her I’d wait for ya and she’d save us some spots.”

The two boys walk into the Great Hall. Everything in this school is larger than life, Thatcher discovers. The walls are covered in windows of various sizes, shapes and tints, ranging from rosey pinks to mint greens to soft bright morning blues, giving a breathtaking view of the forest and mountains around them. The entire ceiling is covered in an enchanted painting of dragons flying in and out of clouds. Three crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, catching the light from the windows and allowing crystal shaped light sparks to dance on the walls. There are four long tables ahead of them, one for each house, and in the back of the room is a head table, some professors are already seated at it. The others, Thatch supposes, are helping the remaining students find their own wands.

Thatcher spots Scotley sitting towards the middle of the table, two sixth years on either side of her. He and Arc make their way over to her and sit across from them. Arc winks at Tatum, a couple seats down, and she rolls her eyes and turns to the girls beside her.

The two students sitting next to Scotley hand her back her wand and she puts the white wood into the pocket of her robes. “I hear you’ve got the fastest reaction from the Wampus cat in a hundred years,” the girl beside her grins.

“Yeah,” says the boy on her left. “He’s usually very picky and slow to react. We are the smallest house, you know.”

“I’m Cyntia,” the girl introduces herself, “and this is Tim. I think we’re going to get along just fine.” They begin talking a mile a minute about secret passageways in the school and training and Quodpot.

A dark haired boy with a thick Canadian accents sits besides Thatcher. “Those two are always looks for fresh meat to help them cause trouble; looks like they found their newest recruit.” He laughs at his housemates sitting on either side of Scotley. He turns to Thatch, “we hear all four houses picked you, aye?”

A dark skinned boy leans over the Canadian and reaches his hand out to Thatcher and Archimedes. “You must be pretty special. I’m Grant and this nosey Canook right here is Mitch, but you can call him Mitty.”

“Thatcher,” he shakes their hands. “And I wouldn’t say that.”

“But he wouldn’t disagree either,” Scotley grins at him, pulling herself into the conversation. Thatcher makes to argue when the room dims. The ledge along the walls ignites with a white fire.

The Headmaster and Headmistress appear in front of the head table and the students around erupt in applause. “Good evening, students,” The Headmistress starts.

“Old and new,” the Headmaster adds before they say together: “And welcome to Ilvermorny.” Around Thatcher the students holler out cheers.

“You must have many questions, but now is simply not the time for answers,” Headmistress Morgan smiles. “Soon, you will separate by house and go to your common rooms where you will be told the grand story of our grand school.”

“Until then, we feast!” Headmaster Pallando says before the two of them disappear from the stage and more food than can possibly be eaten appears in front of Thatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abrupt, rushed ending. I'm tired, sue me.


End file.
